It's Empty
by Zaney HacknSlash
Summary: Vegeta's POV after Kakarott's death, and reason's behind his promise not to fight anymore. Sort of a Sequel to Last Night.


He was gone.

He was gone and the emptiness was maddening to Vegeta. Even when he wasn't thinking about it the thought was always eating at him in the back of his head, a cold reminder that now, at last, over twenty years since the destruction of his home planet, he really was the last Saiyan alive. The last full Saiyan anyway.

Of course Kakarott's brat endured, and he had his own son to think of, but Kakarott himself was lost to the void. Even when Vegeta reached out with his mind, searching for that feeling, that happy-go-lucky, but still somehow dangerous energy, he found himself wandering the earth, looking for someone who didn't exist anymore. Someone he had hated with everything inside of him, for a reason he didn't really understand.

Now he was discovering that he had never hated Kakarott. Not really. He had resented him, sure, he had even disliked him, and he would have killed him if he'd gotten the chance, but his hatred hadn't been so absolute. It hadn't engulfed all of his sentiments toward the man. In fact, there had been some comfort in knowing Kakarott. There had been some reassurance in his living. It had been a silent reminder that he wasn't totally alone yet, and it had given him something to work for--for the last three years-almost four-Vegeta had put his heart and soul and every fiber of strength and will-power he had into defeating Kakarott. Now that Kakarott was dead, he didn't really know what he was living for.

Now HE was the strongest being alive. HE was the greatest Saiyan, the only Saiyan. If it weren't for Kakarott's son. But Gohan was still a child, and what he had in strength couldn't make up for his lack of experience. That put Vegeta pretty close to the top, something he had always wanted. He was a Supersaiyan now, a great warrior, the King of all Saiyans. His goals had been achieved.

And yet he felt so empty. The emptiness, it was driving him insane. The Saiyans were all dead, and he was surrounded by humans. His mate, his in-laws--his family--were all human. Even his son was partially human. Wherever Vegeta walked, he walked alone. That was what it had cost to achieve the goal of being the best.

Never in his life had he imagined that Kakarott's death would be so disheartening, or that it would eat so much of him. He had always assumed that when Kakarott was dead he would only feel immensely satisfied, and nothing else. But now the Prince was discovering that he didn't really know who he was anymore. He couldn't quite fnd an identity. Always before, his identity had been found in the enemies he had faced and defeated, or the foes he had lost to. He measured his wealth and his existence by his strength--Strong enough to crush the Androids, not quite strong enough to beat cell. And always, ALWAYS a half-a-step behind Kakarott. It made him so angry that his stomach trembled with what was almost nausea.

"How dare you die?" he growled, as he stood, looking up at the setting sun, "How dare you die like that?"

It had robbed Vegeta of everything he thought he understood.

But then, Kakarott had always done that, ever since the moment they first stood face-to-face. Kakarott was always overcoming the odds, beating the opponents he shouldn't have been able to beat, becoming stronger and stronger, and then, suddenly, without warning, throwing a curveball at Vegeta, revealing that he had more heart and more compassion than anyone the Prince had ever met in his life. Saiyans weren't like that. He knew because he was a Saiyan, and because he'd been born among them and raised by them. He knew that Saiyans didn't act like Kakarott did. But Kakarott had changed that thought. He'd spared Vegeta, even when he knew that the Prince was the most dangerous opponent he'd ever fought. He had allied himself with Vegeta while they were on Namek together, and stood beside him, and Honor Guard to the Prince, as he had died. Without Vegeta understanding how, Kakarott had become an enemy and a friend at the same time.

Well, maybe a friend was too strong a word. But he had been...something. Something more than just an aquaintance.

Life had taught Vegeta that he really couldn't trust or put faith in anyone but himself. But he _had_ trusted Kakarott for some reason. He hadn't been able to help it. He'd tried really hard not to, and then he had still found himself fighting alongside the commoner. He had still found himself feeling relieved to know that Kakarott was out there somewhere, and that one day they would fight, and he would win. And he would keep coming back until he won.

That was over now. The comfort gone. The reassurance of another Saiyan's presence obliterated by the cruelty of death. Kakarott, his greatest enemy, and his only true ally, his enemy and his friend, his rival and his reason for getting stronger, was dead.

He'd marched willingingly into the gates of of the afterlife, smiling back at the one's he loved and wanted to protect, like he'd be back in a few hours.

Vegeta hated that sacrifice. _Hated_ it. It made him feel so angry and so helpless and so alone. Because he knew, that even though Kakarott's main objective had been to defend the earth and save the life of his son, in a way, Kakarott had died for him. He had saved Vegeta's life as much as he had saved anyone else's.

He'd saved Vegeta twice now. At least. Enemies didn't do that. Enemies didn't forgive so easily. Enemies didn't save or protect each other.

Vegeta wanted to scream at Kakarott. He wanted to find him in the afterlife and drag him back into the world of the living, and just beat on him and scream.

At the same time, his lust for blood and his desire to fight were gone. Just like that, the moment Cell had died for good, the moment Vegeta had known it was over and that Kakarott was dead and never coming back, something had snapped inside of him. Maybe it was just the fact that he was the last Saiyan alive. Or maybe it was the fact that he had no goals left to work toward, but Kakarott's death had changed everything.

Food had lost its taste. The world around him seemed gray and devoid of color. Nothing interested him--he didn't want to fight and he didn't want to train. He didn't have anything to say. He didn't want to do anything. He felt so utterly alone. He felt like he had lost all sense of purpose. There was no point in fighting now. There wasn't anyone who really matched up to him. Gohan couldn't even control his power. And anyway, he was just a child.

Kakarott's rivalry with him had meant a lot more than he had realized.

The Prince gazed up at the sky, thinking about Planet Vegeta, about the fact that it was gone. The universe was a giant bowl, and he was a single flake, drifting alone, with no common blood, no one to follow him. Prince of the Saiyans. It sounded like a joke. There was nothing to be Prince over. Not even one stupid, air-headed, dopey-faced, over-sized, too-happy, common born fool.

Vegeta shook his head a little. Thinking ill of Kakarott only left a strange ache in his chest.

With a sigh, Vegeta turned away from the window and walked the length of the living room, not sure where to go or what to do. Dinner was over, and it was too early to go to bed. He hated television. There seemed to be nothing to occupy his angry mind with, nowhere to direct that rage.

"Dammit."

It would have felt a little better at least if he'd gotten a chance to fight Kakarott one last time. Just to establish one last time who was stronger. Of course, Vegeta was certain that he would not have won. He'd seen Kakartott's fight with Cell, and he knew. And if Kakarott had still been alive he would have plunged back into his training, forcing himself to get better until he knew he could defeat the younger man. But there was no point in straining to beat out someone who was already dead.

Vegeta walked into the kitchen where Bulma was cleaning up the dishes from the meal. Trunks was sitting in his highchair still, banging his spoon on the tray in front of him and yammering in his childish language. The woman was talking to her son like she actually understood him.

"Was dinner good, Trunks? It was? I knew you'd like it! You're such a good boy! Yes you are!" She was completely unaware of him, completely absorbed by her son. Vegeta looked at the black band she was wearing on her left arm and felt his chest tighten again. It was some human mourning garb for the death of a loved one. For the death of Kakarott.

For a long time the Prince stood int he doorway, studying his mate: the way her hair fell across her neck and shimmered in the light, the straightness of her slender shoulders, the drop of her slim waist and curve of her hips. It was a form he'd come to know better than he knew his own face in the mirror, a form that, in spite of his best efforts, he'd come to love.

Love. What a wasted sentiment. He'd loved once and paid for it. He had promised himself he wouldn't allow that emotion to ever touch him again for fear that he couldn't handle the loss of it. And yet, here he was, all settled down, with a wife and a child. And, more than that...he _cared_ for them. It wasn't just that he'd found a place to plant the seed of his lineage, it was that he had found someone who cared for him. Someone he cared for. How ridiculous was that? And yet, he couldn't get away from it.

He turned both eyes to his infant son, remembering the older, stronger son from the future, the hard, blue eyes and the consistent, smooth frown that revealed the toll his young life had taken on him. Vegeta remembered seeing the body of his son, flung backward by Cell's attack, remembered sensing the loss as the young man's energy faded completely. The rage that had awakened had been unbelievable.

The son sitting in the high chair would be different from the future Trunks-he could sense that-but he hoped not too different. Now that the desire to be the best and the desire to beat Kakarott had lifted, he realized just how much he cared for his son, and he realized that he wanted to give Trunks the best life he possibly could. Even if he had no goals left to strive for, he could at least train his own son, hopefully make him stronger than Gohan.

That was his new goal, he had decided. When Trunks was a little older, he'd start training him, make his son the best. Until then, he was stuck with the emptiness. The loneliness. The absence of familiarity. The absence of similar blood. He was without. He was on his own again.

Vegeta noticed Bulma looking at him, her smooth forehead drawn in slight concern. She'd definitely noticed the difference in him over the last few days, but she hadn't said anything--yet. Still, he knew she was worried. And he didnt want that worry. He didnt want that pity.. He wished he could free himself of these ties, but knew that he couldn't. What's more, he shouldn't. With Kakarott gone, with the rivalry finished, Bulma and Trunks were all he had left to live for.

"You okay?" She asked gently, stepping toward him slightly, like she might touch him, but then she seemed to remember herself and stayed where she was.

Vegeta gave her the most impassive look he could manage, "Of course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be?" He tacked a snort to the end of his answer, but his words felt hollow and meaningless.

"Aren't you going to train at all today either?"

Vegeta suppressed a sigh, and then stepped forward so that they were face to face, she just a little shorter than him. She looked slightly nervous, but didn't back away as his arm wound around her back. He dipped his head to kiss her on the brow, said softly, her breath feathering across his face, "Not today."


End file.
